Bad Habits
by dadsonahuntingtrip
Summary: John and Sherlock have a fight, and John storms out. When he returns, John finds out that Sherlock has slipped into a previous bad habit. Rated for drug use.


**A/N So I wrote another Johnlock. Millionaire short bread for anyone who reviews/favourties/follows. Thanks for reading, friends:)**

* * *

Okay. Maybe I over reacted. A little bit. I really do hate fighting with Sherlock, but sometimes that man is just so infuriating. All I asked him to do was grab a pint of milk from Tesco's and he refuses. Claiming that he's busy although he's doing nothing, absolutely nothing! So I got mad. Very mad. Though I thought I was perfectly justified in my actions at the time, I fell kind of bad now, and cold. Although I have been wandering around London for the past three hours without a jacket, so I guess I would be cold.

Sometimes I wonder why I don't just move out. Oh yeah, because I'm madly in love with the dick. Yep, after a year of bleating out that I'm heterosexual at every given opportunity, I finally opened my eyes to the fact that I'm in love with my asexual, high functioning sociopath of a flat mate. I'm screwed. I really don't know how he hasn't figured it out yet, It's almost painfully obvious. But I'm glad he hasn't, he wouldn't return my feelings and then I'd have to move out. I really don't want to move out, ever.

Maybe I should text, see if we need any milk. We're always out of milk. I'll ask him though, just to check that he's alright. I know Sherlock is a full grown man, who is fully capable of looking after himself, but still.

To: Sherlock Holmes

Do we need any milk?-JW

When Sherlock doesn't reply within three minutes I start running. Sherlock always replies to my texts, unless he's on a case, in which he would have rung me, right. I quickly hail a cab and clamber into it. I give the cabbie my address, and can't help to stop and think about that first case Sherlock and I went on. You'd think that after that night, I'd be a little more afraid of cabbie's, apparently not. A very pissed off cabbie brings me out of my trip to memory lane by asking for money, as we're at Baker Street. I apologize and give him the money, before unlocking the front door and going up the stairs. I start thinking about how stupid I've been, Sherlock is fine. I was over reacting. So what, he didn't reply to my text? We're not dating (I wish!), he doesn't need to communicate with me all the time. I'm just thinking about my own stupid,over imaginative mind, when I get into the living room and see Sherlock, sprawled on the sofa.

At first glance, Sherlock looks fine. But, if you look again, you can see that he's sleeping, but not peacefully. His eyes are twitching, and he's muttering. Then, I see a small trickle of blood trickling from his nose. Then, I see a little bag full of white powder of the coffee table, and some of it smeared over the table. No. Please god, no. Sure, I knew that Sherlock used to have problems with drugs a few years ago. But Lestrade found him and helped him get clean. He wouldn't do it again, would he? Why? Why would he do that?

My inner doctor kicks in, and I run to the kitchen, and grab some water, before going to rouse Sherlock. He wakes up pretty quickly. His usually beautiful eyes look strange. They're all glazed over, and extremely dilated. His eyes are open, but he's lying still, and look like he could be asleep. I have to say his name six times before he responds to me. When he does, his voice is cracking, his voice is high, and he speaks so fast it's barley coherent.

"John! John! Jooooohn! Morning, John."

I hand him the water, and tell him to drink it. Which he does, the whole glass, without taking a breath. I ask him how many lines of cocaine he's had. He doesn't answer. I ask him where he got it from, he doesn't answer. He just sits there with this stupid grin on his face. Fine, we'll talk in the morning then. I grab him by his t-shirt. After refilling the water, and dragging Sherlock to his room, and forcing him into his bed, he just sits there for a few seconds, before lying down and going out like a light. Sleep is the best thing for him right now, but I'm going to sleep next to him, on an armchair, tonight. I'm not leaving him alone tonight.

* * *

I wake to hearing Sherlock groan. My back kills, and I feel like I didn't sleep a wink. I open my eyes, and see Sherlock staring back at me. It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings, and it all comes flooding back. Fighting with Sherlock, wandering around, coming home, finding Sherlock so drugged up that he couldn't even stay awake, when cocaine usually makes you feel alert. I take a shaky breath before talking.

"We need to talk."

"I know" His reply is short. His voice is dry and cracked, I hand him the glass of water.

"Yesterday, after I left, you got high"

"Yes."

"Did you go and buy it or was it in the house?"

"I have a stash in the house- I'm not telling you where, so don't even bother asking"

"How many lines?"

"I lost count after 11"

"Christ Sherlock, why? Why after all this time?"

"I don't want to feel anything, John! I'm not good with emotions, and I've never really experienced any strong ones, especially not for one single person, for a long time. I just wanted to make it stop, make it all stop."

Oh. What could Sherlock feel that made him so desperate to stop feeling it? A strong emotion for another person? Then it clicks. I'm no Sherlock Holmes, but even I can make simple deductions. He's in love with someone. That hurts. I never stood a chance with Sherlock, but it was almost a comfort knowing that even though I couldn't have him, no-one could. What if this woman loved him back? What if she moves in here and I have to leave Sherlock? Who the hell is she? All these questions run around my head, until I have a headache. Okay, lets get this over and done with.

"You're in love with someone and you don't know how to handle it" God, it hurts to just say it.

"Yes."

"They're brilliant, amazing, beautiful and smart and you don't know what to do"

"Correct."

"Why didn't you ask me, Sherlock? I'm no Casanova, but I do have some experience with dating, I could have helped you! I wouldn't have laughed at you or anything" The though of helping Sherlock get a girl kills, but I'd do anything for him, anything. I carry on.

"Sherlock, even if this person is the god damn love of your life, there's no reason to destroy your body and mind over them! I don't care how beautiful or smart she is-"

"Wrong!" Sherlock interrupts.

"What, she's not beautiful or smart?"

"It's not a she" Oh. Okay. I think that hurts even more, Sherlock is gay, I could be with him, if only I was good enough.

"Oh. Sorry I didn't think of that. That's okay though. Why don't you just ask him out? I know you're not good with this sort of thing, but just ask him out for coffee or something. Honestly, what's the worst that can happen?" Sherlock needs to see that any positives out way the negatives. Although I hate the though of him dating, I want him to be happy. Sherlock deserve to be happy.

"What's the worst thing that could happen, John? The very worst thing? That would be, I tell him, he freak's out, because he's heterosexual and clearly not interested in me, then he moves out and I never see him again. Then I loose my flatmate, my blogger and my best, my only, friend."

It takes me a second to process. Does Sherlock mean me? Who else could he mean? But it doesn't make any sense! What was it he said, 'clearly not interested', oh Sherlock, I'm most defiantly interested. Sherlock's voice cuts through my musings, he sounds angry and bitter.

"Not so intent on helping me now, are you? It's alright, don't feel like you need to stay. You can move out whenever you want to, so stay at Sarah's or another one of your boring, typical, predictable girl friend's. I shouldn't have told you, I know you're not interested in men, let alone me. So, you should move out, and continue with your life as you did before, and so shall I, and I shall attempt to forget you, which I'm sure will be difficult seeing as I'm in love with you"

What? Did Sherlock really think I would move out? That I didn't want him back? Wasn't he supposed to be amazing at all this reading people thing? How could he not tell that I'm just as in love with him as he seems to be with me? I still can't get over this, Sherlock and I can be together, and it'll be great! I let out a little laugh, before talking in a voice that seems to high to be my own.

"I love you too, you absolute idiot"


End file.
